Cracks In The Ceiling
by DatAssRomano
Summary: No one likes facing up to the truth. And Gilbert knew he was real, that he existed. But the darkness was still pulling him down. And Francis couldn't do anything about it. ((Character death, implied FraPru))


**# Cracks In The Ceiling(FraPru) #**

**So I just finished reading On The Bound, a Franada fic about a bank heist (don't give me that look, it was the shit and I loved it to pieces).**

**Anyway, it mentioned something that gave me an idea. But then I ended up changing it completely. It was supposed to be sadistic PruAus about Prussia breaking Austria, but I just...eh. Just after writing a PrUk oneshot, I know, I know. Prussia's just a good character, I guess.**

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_The demons._

_They were waiting, waiting. _

_Waiting for that moment._

_The moment he broke._

_The moment he shattered. _

_The moment where everything would stop._

_No matter where you might go, how you might cover them up,_

_There are always cracks._

The wind was cold, unforgiving. And yet it did not judge, attacking everything meaninglessly, without thought as to whether it should hurt _that_ person or _this_ person instead of another. That was how it should be, how it was. If only people were the same, the same brutal equality.

"Gilbert...stop standing in the rain. You're going to get sick if you continue to be like this."

The water and wind hit the Prussian like a wave, one pale hand clenched on the rails as he turned slightly. Francis looked worried, somehow. His expression was drawn, frowning slightly. What was his problem? There was nothing wrong here. Just...enjoying the weather. Gilbert leaned against the railing of the balcony, turning his red gaze so it fixed on him, likely something near to an unnerving stare. The Frenchman didn't back down, standing in the doorway of the bedroom, meeting his dark look with a sedate one of his own. Why did he need to ruin the chaotic peace the storm brought? Was there some kind of problem...?

"It's fine. Don't be so unawesome."

"Cher...you...you're going to get sick."

"No I won't. Nations don't get sick."

"Gil...you're not a..."

"Don't."

Pain and disappointment rippled up Gilbert's spine and he tried to glare at Francis, although he realised there wasn't much power in it. When was that stupid rumour going to stop, dammit?! Everyone thought it was true now, and they all tried to tell him that blatant lie. What they didn't know was that it was a lie, all of it. Wouldn't he know if Prussia didn't exist anymore?! He was the damn nation, surely he'd be the first to know if the country stopped existing. What idiot had started this sick joke, anyway?

He realised faintly Francis had stepped out into the rain with him, and the smaller blonde was getting soaked by the weather as well. A trickle of worry seeped into his scrambled mind, and he looked down at the Frenchman, the water blurring his sight as he watched it run down Francis's face. Dark, expressive blue eyes were still watching him steadily, the lack of expression almost unnerving, but what was worse was that Gilbert could _feel_ his pity from here and it was almost heartbreaking. Did Francis really believe that bullshit too...? His own _lover_ didn't believe him?

"You...you think that's true too," he mumbled.

"I think...that I am worried about you, cher."

"It's a lie, Francis. Why would I be here still if it wasn't?"

There was no reply to his desperate question, simply a deadly silence except for the loud patter of the rain that was still pouring down upon them. Gilbert grabbed Francis's wrist with one hand, his face imploring. He had to convince the other. It was impossible he didn't exist; simply ridiculous. Why was he here, then? His sole purpose was to be the nation of Prussia. Francis let himself be grabbed, not reacting to the slightly rough treatment he was being given as he shifted, his facial expression not changing. He gave a small sniff, and wiped at Gilbert's face gently with the damp sleeve of his shirt. The Prussian allowed the treatment for a few moments, standing silent, until he lost his patience.

"You really believe it, don't you?!"

"Gilbert...I..."

"Nein! How could you believe it?! How could I not be real, Francis? You know- you know better than anyone!"

Francis looked like he was going to make a comment this time, but as he went to speak, his parted lips were captured by Gilbert's in a desperate, almost pained kiss. He didn't react during the split second it happened, and the Prussian drew back, his eyes wild with pain and grief. The questions kept rising from the horror in his soul, one after another, anything to prove his identity, that he _was_ Prussia, he _was_ Gilbert Beilschmidt, he _was_ himself. He drew Francis back for another kiss, trailing his lips along the other's jaw, tasting the rain mixed in with Francis's skin. The blonde made no move to stop him, but didn't encourage him either, and eventually he backed off by himself, a cold feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"Does that not feel real to you?!"

"Gilbert..."

"No! I can see that look on your face, Francis, how can you believe that bullshit when I'm standing right in front of you?! How can you deny that I'm real?!"

"I'm not denying that Gilbert Beilschmidt is real. He's in front of me. I love him to pieces…but that nation, the nation of Prusse, it is gone, Gilbert. It's not coming back. I saw it happen. I saw it shrivel and die."

And that was when he felt his heart shatter, cracking into pieces.

It was impossible.

"It's a lie," he croaked. Pitying blue eyes watched him, a hand slipping over his own white-knuckled one on the balcony. Francis pulled him into an embrace, burying his face in Gilbert's shirt so he could hear the frantic beating of his heart. By now they were soaked beyond recognition, the Prussian's white hair going almost see-through in its wet glory. Francis sighed softly and shifted Gilbert's hand so their fingers were intertwined. Then he pulled him slightly away from the railing.

"Shh, Gilbert, it's okay," he said comfortingly.

"No! It's not!"

Gilbert yanked himself back out in the rain almost violently, shaking his head. Thunder cracked in the distance, almost seeming as if it was emphasizing the Prussian's point as he backed up further. By now the expression on his face was a mask of pain, and Francis's one of guilt, as the albino felt the sharp railing bite into his hip. The Frenchman stayed out of the rain this time, his eyes wide with worry.

"Gilbert, please-"

"No!"

And then he was falling.

For some reason he looked up as he fell from the balcony, eyes alighting upon the stormy sky. The thunder was still booming, and strangely enough, it looked as if there were cracks in the sky itself. It was peaceful, somehow, as he felt all his worry drift away. Why did any of that shit matter, anyway? Who cared about all the pain, all the stress? It'd be better to just...let it go.

Then he hit the ground.


End file.
